


Gratification

by DictionaryWrites



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:30:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kíli has a fascination with Thranduil's throne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gratification

"You are  _bold_ , Dwarf.” Thranduil purred, and Kíli let out a yelp of surprise, scrambling out of his seat and stumbling as he did so, falling onto his knees on the ground. Thranduil had been utterly silent as he’d moved into the room, standing beside his throne, where Kíli had moved to sit while he waited for the Elvenking to come.

"Sorry!" Kíli said desperately, and Thranduil arched a graceful, silver eyebrow, taking a step forwards as Kíli moved to stand up. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, it was just- it was just that I was waiting and you weren’t there yet and I just wondered-"

"What it is like to sit on the Elvenking’s  _throne_?”

Kíli’s cheeks flushed beneath that sweet stubble- and yes, Thranduil preferred this fluff to the thick facial hair most of the Dwarves carried. This creature was far prettier than his brethren, with bright eyes and white teeth, less hair, and with a slightly lither frame.

Thranduil thought the boy must carry some Elven blood in him for how sweet he was in comparison, but he doubted his asking would be taken well.

”Y-yes.” Kíli muttered, and he was the most impulsive of his fellows, Thranduil had found. He thrust out a box, and Thranduil took it with slender, graceful fingers, slowly sliding into his seat - _his_  seat, and Kíli looked relieved that Thranduil had apparently let the fact that Kíli had sat upon it slip from his mind. 

Sweet, innocent creature. Thranduil forgot nothing. He was of age now, Thranduil thought absently. He’d come of age only soon after Thorin had taken his own throne in Erebor - not that Kíli had a chance at it, of age or not. His brother was the elder, and- well.

Where  _was_  that brother of his?

Thranduil hummed as he read the rolled parchment within the box: a gift from Thorin of decorative beads, from one King to another, and Thranduil was pleased. They were pretty things, of Dwarven make, and he would ensure to wear them in his hair the next time he met with the stubborn creature. It was a strain to believe the charming thing before him could related to Thorin Oakenshield, Thranduil felt.

"Where is your brother?" Thranduil asked, and Kíli very nearly jumped, blinking wildly and seeming utterly perplexed by the question.

"He is in Erebor. He stays by our uncle’s side, for he’s the heir. Sir." Kíli added, with a little nod of his head (not a bow, but it was  _something_ , at least.) “I came alone, to bring this.”

"So he is." Thranduil murmured, and he set the box aside before he leaned forwards, beckoning with one long, marble white finger for Kíli to approach him. The young Dwarf did, he stood before Thranduil with his eyes wide, his lips slightly parted - and how pink they were, not so pale as Elven lips, pink and plump and filled with sweet, sweet blood: summer’s wine was in those lips. "You are to be married to young Tauriel?"

"No." Kíli said, and he shook his head from side to side. "We didn’t- we _did_  like each other, and we’re-” Kíli stopped short, perhaps recalling that his relationships were not something he ought discuss with the Elvenking, regardless of whether he asked. “No.” He said again, and Thranduil smiled.

He showed his teeth, white and ordered in his mouth behind pale lips, and Kíli’s eyes dropped from Thranduil’s own to the Elf’s lips, his own mouth opening slightly. “Might I ask you a question, Dwarf?”

Kíli seemed uncomfortable. “If I answer, may I take quarters after?” Thranduil frowned, furrowing his brow.

"Not before you have eaten, no, you may not, though we will not insist you wait for mealtime to begin: I will have something made up for you." Thranduil’s tone was stern enough, for he was not going to take angry letters from Thorin or better, Fíli, for not taking care of the youngest man in the line of Durin. Kíli seemed surprised, but he gave a small nod.

"Very well." The Dwarf said, attempting a diplomatic tone. "You may ask a question. Sir."

"Why did you take my seat?" Kíli bit hard at his own lip, and Thranduil watched that with careful eyes, watched white teeth abuse that sweet, red flesh, drawing more red to the area, making those lips yet plumper. How positively sinful of him. Did the Dwarfling know how he teased?

"I just wanted to see how it felt." Kíli said. "Like I said."

"But  _why_?” Thranduil drew out the word, and it  _rumbled_ , from his chest to echo about the hall. It was all but empty but for the Elf and this little Dwarf, and that thought filled Thranduil with temptation, fascination, and an interest that was far far away from being diplomatic. “Why did you want to know how it felt?”

Kíli thought himself clever when he said, “I said one question.” Thranduil laughed, the noise as dark and low as his speaking voice, and it sent shivers up Kíli’s spine, for it was wild and chilling, and it seemed to promise something that Kíli would ask for, if he knew exactly what it was.

"Very well." Thranduil said, and he stood before leading Kíli out of the hall and down stairs (and even though there were many stairs, it could never compare to all the steps Kíli was used to in Erebor.)

It was important, Kíli thought, to be on good terms with the Elves. After the Battle of the Five Armies, after his uncle’s gold sickness (the very idea made Kíli feel sick to his own stomach, nausea and worry coiling in his abdomen), it was amazing that Kíli could come to the Mirkwood at all. He wondered if it would have been better that he marry Tauriel, for the sake of linking their two races, but no, such an idea would be awful.

He adored Tauriel, and vice versa, but it had become obvious after a little while that they weren’t completely compatible in a husband and wife sort of way.

He ate in silence, unsure about insulting the Elves - he would have to ask Tauriel to help him with more notes about the Elven way, or for history books perhaps, for even though Kíli didn’t really like to read, or indeed, do anything for too terribly long a time, he wanted to do his job  _well_. If he couldn’t be heir to the throne, if he would never be King, he could still be  _somewhat_  useful.

Without Tauriel, he was hardly going to marry at all - his beard wasn’t even long enough to braid, and even though Fíli assured him that it would undoubtedly get longer with time, Kíli was of age and with still barely any beard, and he had all sorts of doubt. What Dwarven woman, or man, for that matter, could be attracted to  _him_?

He slid into bed that night and he tossed and he turned, despite the pleasant warmth of his bed and the beautifully comfortable silken sheets. He’d had a bath before slipping into bed, and the water had been the perfect temperature.

He felt tremendously relaxed, and exhausted to boot after his journey, but he could not sleep.

Kíli thought of Thranduil’s throne, and Thranduil’s question, and Thranduil, and he could not sleep.

—-

It was late at night when Kíli finally gave up, pulling on the dressing gown from the back of the door over his naked body. It was made of rabbit fur, Kíli thought, and it was terribly warm despite the way it left his legs mostly bared to the night air, for it stopped at his knee.

He did not notice the loose trousers that were meant to accompany the fur gown resting on a side table in the corner of the room, and went without as he stepped, barefoot, into the corridor. 

The stone was cool beneath his feet, but not uncomfortably so, and in fact, he relished its grounding force. He did not know where he really intended to wander - in the back of his mind, he wondered if this was how Bilbo had felt those few years ago, trapped here - but Kíli ended up in the empty throne room.

He stepped forwards, and it was colder in here than it was in the corridor, for it was a big room with a high ceiling, and it was draughty to boot. Kíli stepped towards the throne as if enchanted, his lips parted, and after a moment’s pause, his tongue darted from his mouth to wet them.

He moved slowly up the steps to the throne, and every step seemed to  _echo_ , in his head if not in the room, despite the fact that his feet were bare and his every movement was silent. _  
_

He was slow, too, in sliding into the throne again, and yes, he _liked_  this, liked the way wood curled up around him, liked the way the seat felt a little too big for him, liked how  _high_  he felt.

"Again, Dwarf? I’m beginning to think you’ve got a fetish." Kíli froze, hands squeezing the sides of the seat as Thranduil appeared in front of him, from the side of the seat, and Kíli’s lips quivered as he looked up at the Elf. Thranduil seemed to  _tall_  like this, and Kíli wondered if the Elf would kill him he thought he could get away with it.

Kíli felt that Thranduil would perhaps do that even if he  _couldn’t_  get away with it, on a very primal level that excited Kíli more than it ought have. Thranduil could effectively do whatever he damn well liked with Kíli, and perhaps that was more interesting than it ought have been.

"What’s a fetish?" was the response Kíli managed to get out, and there was that laugh again, so  _low_  - Kíli always thought of Elven voices as being high and melodic, and though Thranduil’s tones were impossibly pleasant to the ear, they were far from being high.

"Would you like a dictionary definition?" Thranduil asked in a low reverberating tone. He was not completely surprised to find the Dwarf in the throne again - he had affected the steps before taking to his own bed, and had heard the echoing song of their response to Kíli’s barefeet on their surface.

Thranduil had been quick in coming to respond.

"Yes, please." Kíli said, and his own voice was strangled, because Thranduil’s hands had pushed Kíli’s own back, and his own marble coloured digits were on the arms of the throne, and he was  _leaning_  over Kíli, and Kíli’s heart was beating fast, his stomach swimming with butterflies, and he could  _hear_  his heartbeat in his own ears - was this what rabbits felt like when foxes had them trapped in their own holes? Not that this was his own throne, of course, but- 

"A form of  _sexual_  desire in which gratification is linked, to an abnormal degree, to a particular item of clothing, part of the body, et cetera, and in this case, a particular  _object_.” Kíli let out a soft squeak, and he went red from his cheeks to the very tips of his ears. He was shivering in the throne despite still not being cold, and Thranduil’s eyes travelled down, over the dusting of hair at Kíli’s chest where the dressing gown parted, and then down lower, to Kíli’s legs. “You’re not very hairy for a Dwarf.” Thranduil observed, and Kíli bit hard at his own lip, pressing his legs together and drawing them under his body.

"I know." He mumbled, embarrassed, and Thranduil reached out and grasped his chin, and dear God, his hands were so  _warm!_  For how pale he was, Kíli had expected him to be cold to the touch, but no, Thranduil’s skin was warm as if he’d just come out of the sun, and Kíli let out a little noise.

"Why on this green Earth are you so upset about it? Most of your people are so… Displeasing, to the eye." Kíli stared at him, his eyes a little wide, and he was conscious of how the other man’s knuckles felt pressed to the stubble that began at his jaw. 

"No." Kíli said softly, shaking his head - but not shaking his head enough, of course, to draw his head out of the Elvenking’s touch. "I am. I shan’t marry. Fíli says I will, but he’s wrong, because no one will want me. We are not Elves, sir. It’s different."

Thranduil leaned closer, until their noses were almost touching, and for a moment Kíli all but stopped breathing, but when he did inhale, he smelled sweet berries and the morning dew of the forest, and despite himself, he relaxed.

Such a pleasant scent.

"Why marry a Dwarf? Marry one of my people. It will aid you in your diplomatic duties, will it not?" Kíli opened his mouth to answer, but Thranduil was already talking again. "And given how obsessed you are with this throne-" Thranduil’s hand left Kíli’s chin, resting over Kíli’s own hand, and the Dwarf shivered. "Perhaps you ought marry into the royal line."

"Y-your son?" Kíli whispered.

Thranduil laughed. “No.”

"Oh." Kíli whispered. " _Oh_.” Thranduil considered it, considered Thorin’s face at realizing his darling nephew was involved with the Elvenking, diplomacy aside, and moreover, he thought of Kíli, sprawled out in Thranduil’s bed with his barely hair-dusted legs spread apart and his mouth open in a sweet cry. “Oh, but I’m not- but you’re- but-“

Thranduil dipped, and he captured Kíli’s lips under his own, and yes, yes, summer’s wine was  _indeed_  stored in these plump lips, for Kíli mewled into Thranduil’s mouth and reached up to put his fingers through Thranduil’s silken locks.

The Elf drew back again, and he grinned, very slowly raising his eyebrows as he looked down at Kíli, who seemed utterly concentrated on Thranduil’s mouth and not his eyes. “Do you know, Kíli, it is awfully inappropriate to sit like this in a throne that is not your own. I ought punish you.”

"Please punish me." Kíli said earnestly, bright-eyed and nodding, and Thranduil’s grin was all teeth and thin lips, but Kíli trembled out of more excitement than fear.

"Do you know what that would comprise of?" Thranduil asked in a purr.

"You could use your teeth." Kíli whispered, and he shifted in his seat, spreading his legs apart. Thranduil’s hands slipped from the sides of the throne to his knees, and Kíli let out a pleased sigh. "Or your hands. Or anything, really. Whatever you like."

“ _Whatever_  I like?” Thranduil repeated, and he could hear the pump of Kíli’s blood, hear his heart pounding in that little chest of his, and he resolved to taste of it in the smallest of ways. He kissed Kíli again, but this time he caught the other’s lip under his own teeth, and Kíli’s blood was sweet and coppery where it danced on Thranduil’s own lip.

A bead of it clung to the pale skin, and Kíli shuddered. “Take me to your bed.” He demanded, and Thranduil’s tongue moved over his lower lip, taking the bead of blood that had decided to remain there. 

"My  _bed_?” Thranduil repeated, and he hummed. “Why, here you are, half-dressed, in the Elvenking’s throne, the very cheek of it, and now you  _order_ me to take you to my bed?” Kíli’s eyes went wide, and momentarily, he looked terrified. “A joke.” Thranduil said dryly, and Kíli let out a soft noise.

"Oh. I didn’t think Elves joked. Sir."

"We tease." Thranduil’s hands slid further up Kíli’s legs, up his thighs, under the gown, and Kíli let out a guttural noise, legs spreading wider. "Do you want me to take you to bed, Kíli?"

"Yes." Kíli said earnestly. 

"Then I suggest you dispense with the  _sir_.” 

"Oh." Kíli flushed again, and my my, Thranduil had never known a Dwarf to blush so much. "Yes.  _Thranduil_.” Ah. How pleasant that sound was: Thranduil’s own name on the lips he’d bitten pink.

"Follow me then." Thranduil purred, and Kíli all but ran to do so, nearly stumbling on the throne’s steps as he did. 

He was swift enough in pushing his door closed, and he reached out, pushing the robe from Kíli’s shoulders and revealing the skin beneath, and Thranduil  _hummed_ , thoughtful. “On your back, if you will.” Thranduil said, and despite his casual tone, the imperative was clear. Kíli threw himself onto the bed, and Thranduil’s smile was more predatory than it was happy.

He slipped out of his own robe, and Kíli’s mouth dropped open. Gratifying, yes, how very gratifying. Thranduil slipped forwards, and he made a mental note to draw out as many noises as he could out of that Dwarven throat.

And oh, Thranduil was skilled at this game: he would employ every tactic he could.

—-

When Thranduil finally drew away, Kíli was left exhausted, limp on the bed. Before, he had tossed and turned, but now he was truly fatigued: Kíli slept.

Interested, Thranduil rested his chin on one hand, lying on his side as he affected the boy with a fascinated and curious gaze: Kíli was utterly peaceful, still on the bed, but while he was still for now, as soon as Thranduil lay down properly, he found the Dwarf moulded himself to the older man’s side.

How terribly sweet of him, despite the cold of his body. Thranduil indulged him, and remained in bed with him until he finally woke, when it was late morning and very nearly noon. “Are you awake?”

"Yes?" Kíli said, drowsily.

"Good. Get on your belly: I am not done with you." Kíli grinned at him, and Thranduil’s reply was a tiny quirk of his pale lips. Kíli moved to obey, and Thranduil was pleased.

Yes, this was perfect gratification.


End file.
